Gaila's Big Book of Songs and Stuff
by outtabreath
Summary: This is the story of how one pushy Orion decided Spock and Nyota needed to get together. Gaila POV Flenderson prequel. As Gaila is naturally effusive, there's some teen-level language and situations.
1. Roommate

I'm baaccck! This time around, Gaila was demanding some leading lady time so I could tell her part of the Spock/Nyota love story.

Big Orion-sized hugs to my beta and friend, miss steph, and to the daft muppets at Writers Anonymous: Doc, TFTSS, etc, and kalenel.

This story is dedicated to the Perusing for Posteriors forum at WA. It knows why.

I do not own Star Trek or the characters; I think everyone already knew that.

_**~*~Gaila's Big Book of Songs and Stuff by outtabreath~*~**_

**~One: Roommate~**

Come sing a song of dusting,  
Of cleaning and of mopping  
Sing, sing a song of cleansers  
Of soap and of bleach.  
No one must clean alone,  
Someone can always help  
With the scrubbing and the sponging.

_Song of Joy_ by Gaila and Beethoven  
__________________________________________________

The room was smallish, but it might be okay.

I spent ten minutes arranging my beauty products, making sure they were in order, smallest to largest, with the labels facing out. It made it easier to find what you needed when you were pressed for time because things had run later, or _better_, than anticipated.

It was a trick I'd learned when I'd ended up in a shower with lotion and astringent, and nothing else. Besides the guy. I'd ended up in a shower with nothing but a bottle of lotion, a bottle of astringent, and a very adorable Bolian.

We'd been _very_ late that day _and_ I'd learned a very valuable lesson: being under-prepared while in the shower led to lateness. Sure it also led to getting shower-lucky, which is the best kind of morning-lucky there is, but lateness was frowned on at the Academy, so I was going to be on-time for every class, pressed and clean, my hair bouncing and behaving, my skin glowing lustrously.

Order was necessary to live in civilization.

My soon-to-arrive-roommate had grown up in civilization, so she should already be well-versed in the importance of boundaries, limits, and personal space, and the need for cleanliness and order.

Still, I'd dropped plenty of hints in the messages I sent her in our forced – no, not forced, Strongly Encouraged By The Academy – correspondence over the last two months.

I'd talked about my products, my clothes, my shoes, my _things_. I'd sent her articles about how orderliness improved grade point averages. A video about how to make a bed so you could bounce things – and not just body part things, but other things – off of it. I'd written a song about the joy of cleaning and had a Draylaxian with a beautiful body and even more beautiful voice sing it to her. There'd been a three page e-mail about my big closet accompanied by holos of it – neatly organized, with the rainbow of colors all in their special places.

She was a Xenolinguistic prodigy; subtext was her thing. I was confident that she'd understand what I'd been subtly communicating to her.

It'd be okay, I decided. Nyota Uhura of the United States of Africa was a smart, insightful woman who had grown up on Earth, among Humans and would, therefore, clean up after herself, make her bed every day, and put everything back where she found it.

I was starting on the closet when the door to our room slid open.

She came around the wall that divided the entrance alcove from the sleeping alcove. Her step was light and quick. She was taller than I expected; skinnier in person than in the holos she'd sent me. I ran my eyes over the box she had under one arm and the large case she was pulling behind her with the other hand.

"Gaila?" she asked, as if another Orion was going to wander into her dorm room by mistake and begin unpacking and organizing; she dropped the box and the handle of the case in the middle of the room, right between the beds.

I courageously ignored her actions

"That's me. Hi, Nyota," I said, stepping forward and hugging her and, wow, she was really, really skinny.

She stiffened in my arms.

Okay. Not a hugger.

I released her and stepped back, smiling at her; the smile she returned was half-hearted.

I also courageously ignored _that_.

"So, I started unpacking," I announced, "But I wanted to wait for you to choose beds." I bounced up on my toes. "I'd like the one away from the door. Or the one near the door. I don't care. What's your opinion?"

She blinked; her eyes were a little dazed as she turned as if searching for something. "That one?" she pointed at the bed nearest the door.

"Works for me," I said, returning to my work on the closet.

She picked up the box, and dumped it on her bed. I watched in stunned horror.

Next, she opened her bag and picked it up – she was skinny, but strong – and dumped its contents onto her bed. In a pile. On top of the other pile.

I whimpered before I could censor myself.

"What?" she asked.

I stumbled to the bed and ran my eyes over the mound of stuff lying there: clothes, personal items, toiletries all mashed together. The labels on the bottles were worn off, the clothes were wrinkled and the shoes….

I couldn't even look at the shoes.

It _hurt_.

"What did you do to them?" I asked, my hand shooting out so I could cradle a pair of flats. They were nicked and scratched and the heels were partially worn off.

"I wore them," she said, something approaching a question in her tone.

I took a deep, shuddering breath. She may be brilliant, but she was an idiot, too. "They're little and defenseless and you did this to them!" I pointed at a particularly grievous scratch.

Her eyes got very big and she sucked in a breath that, truly, used up half the oxygen in the room. "They're shoes, Gaila."

"Yes, shoes," I agreed, though I was starting to realize that meant something very different to her. "Okay," I said, briskly, "I'm going to take care of this stuff for you."

"My things?"

"Yes. I'm going to fix what I can, organize everything, and then you and I are going to have a little talk about the care of clothing and footwear."

"Uh," she said.

I held up a hand – the one without the injured party in it – and quelled her. "I thought you would understand. I sent you articles and holos, Ny."

"You were serious?" she demanded. "I thought those were jokes."

I gasped and sunk to the bed, right beside a pair of pants with what looked suspiciously like holes in them. I averted my eyes. "There are three things I don't joke about. One, computers. Two, orange. And third, orderliness, clothing, and products. Stuff."

"I think that was six things. And why don't you joke about oranges and what's 'ny?'" She sat down on the other side of the pile.

"Ny is your nickname," I said. "Nyota'll take too long to say when I have important things to talk to you about."

"I don't want a nickname."

I leaned over and patted her hand. "And yet you need one. It'll be a good thing, you'll see. And it's not oranges – but orange, the color." I shuddered. "It is an evil thing and no one should ever, ever wear it." I glanced at the pile; I couldn't see any orange, but it didn't mean there wasn't some at the bottom – just lurking there.

"I don't mind orange," she protested.

I narrowed my eyes at her and resisted the urge to root through the pile to insure that no orange had snuck into my room. Our room.

"You'd look terrible in it," I pointed out, even though I wasn't sure about that. She had the kind of skin and coloring that probably looked good in everything but brown.

She'd probably even look good in brown.

"I'll have you know that I look very good in orange."

"I don't want to know how you know that," I whispered.

She sighed. "Look, I know that it's going to take some time for the two of us to get used to each other…."

"I like you already," I protested, "the shoes and orange and…" I swept my hand over her unruly belongings, "aside. We'll be fine." And I did like her. She had a nice energy to her – calm, focused, teachable. I stood and began to sort through the pile, carefully schooling my face as I found more scuffed shoes, a plastic bag with mascara, and some truly heinous clothes.

"I have a sister," she said.

"I remember." We'd covered the whole family thing in the first message. She had two parents and a sister and two brothers. Her family liked music – which was a good thing – and she had a dead grandfather who'd been a chess champion.

"She and I shared a room for a long time," she said like she hadn't heard me. I realized she was talking to herself more than she was to me. "And we both survived."

I looked at her, patiently waiting for her to figure out that she and I were going to get along just fine.

As long as she didn't wear orange. Ever.

She took a deep breath, stood and began to sort with me. "So," she said just as I realized that the mascara was her only cosmetic. "That holo was really your closet?"

I smiled. "It's incredible, isn't it?"

"Incredible," she echoed, then she smiled – a real, genuine smile. It transformed her face entirely. "So, are you going for the same thing here?"

"As much as possible," I said. "This closet is _small_."

She nodded. "The room is kind of small."

"We'll make it work," I said.


	2. Spock

The exquisite song that opens this chapter is by the unparalleled miss steph, she who is my friend, beta, and purveyor of songs about Vulcan genitalia. Love you babe!

And likening Spock in his Academy uniform to a certain kind of candy was stolen from ejectthecore; love you, too, babe!

Disclaimers, and eternal vows of thanks and love in chapter one.

**~Two:** **Spock~**

I have a little song to sing  
about a Vulcan that I know  
I'm not singing about his head  
or his finger or his toe

You see I know when he is happy  
or when he's in a funk  
I know how he is feeling  
by the color of his junk

Mood ring, mood ring penis  
It really needs to be seen  
Mood ring, mood ring penis  
Such a lovely shade of green

A shade lovelier than broccoli  
A shade lovelier than grass  
A shade lovelier than a pair of pants  
that shows off his ass

Green is the color of money  
and the color of envy too  
Well let me tell you that I envy  
the chick he finally decides to do

Mood ring, mood ring penis  
It really needs to be seen  
Mood ring, mood ring penis  
Such a lovely shade of green

You'll know it when he's happy  
and this may sound kind of lewd  
but when you see a lot of green  
it means he's in the mood

Oh you sexy, colorful Vulcan  
the inspiration for this song  
This is just my first ode  
to your expressive schlong

Mood ring, mood ring penis  
It really needs to be seen  
Mood ring, mood ring penis  
Such a lovely shade of green

_Mood Ring Penis_, by Gaila  
__________________________________________________________________

"They should charge admission," Marianna said.

"They'd make a fortune," added the petite blonde named Cossette two seats over.

I nodded, my mouth watering. "I'd pay whatever they wanted to watch this."

It was the best show I'd ever seen.

"Do you think he has to special order his pants?" asked Blondie.

"There's no way he can't," murmured Marianna. "His legs have to be two meters long."

"At least," I murmured, hypnotized by the movement of his hips.

"Not that router, Cadet Briggs," the Vulcan Commander said, reminding us that we were actually supposed to be learning something.

His tone was clipped and precise; his stance was open and inviting. He had one hand resting on the edge of the console, and he was leaning forward, his right leg stretched backwards, his left bent a bit; he was bent over almost double, his head tipped at an odd angle so he could peer at Boris's work.

It gave us the chance to peruse his lithe, supple, lean body. Especially the lower half. And most especially that tight and toned ass.

The man could work a Starfleet Instructor uniform like no one else.

"Can't they turn on the air conditioning?" Cossette asked. "Do they want us to be little puddles at the end of class?"

"Too late," I muttered. I'd been a puddle since the long-legged piece of lusciousness had marched into the room and cast those implacable eyes around. I hoped Professor Metzger would be sick a lot.

He shifted lower, his right leg stretching out further, his ass straining the tensile strength of material and thread; I squeezed my legs together and reminded myself to breathe.

The acrid smell of burning electronics filled the air. "Or that one, Cadet," he prompted, his voice even.

As far as I was concerned, Boris could spend the entire class making mistakes. The Commander leaned over more when he did.

"How big do you think his biceps are?" Marianna asked.

I shifted my gaze from where his hamstrings pressed against the black pants to where his arms strained the black tunic. There was definitely some nice definition to those arms; how had that escaped my notice?

"Please try again," he prompted, leaning forward again.

Oh yeah. His ass was perfect, and I couldn't take my eyes off of it. _That's_ how I'd missed his arms.

"I'd be willing to measure 'em," Cossette said, bringing my attention back to the biceps. "You know, in the interest of science."

Boris yelped, and the smell of burning hair filled the room; Spock drew his outstretched leg in and crouched down, giving us all an enticing look at the way his waist curved in. I held my breath as he strained to the side. Yep, there it was - the rigid line of his hipbone. Follow it wherever it may go and find all kinds of good things there.

"Seriously. Air conditioning," murmured Cossette.

"The red wire, please, Cadet Briggs," he prompted.

"What classes does he teach, and how can I take one?" Marianna asked.

"Advanced phonology and interspecies ethics," answered the cute Andorian sitting in the row behind us. She leaned forward. "It almost makes you want to change majors, doesn't it?"

"Why don't they make instructors wear boots?" Marianna asked peevishly. "I could do with some idea of how those calves look."

"Focus on the ass," I prompted. "You don't really need anything more than that."

"Interspecies ethics is a second year class," sighed Cossette. "Why can't I take it now?"

"He's teaching Romulan this semester," added Kalla from behind us. "Professor Wine's on sabbatical."

"My roommate's in that class," I said. She'd been seeing this for weeks and had failed to mention the delectableness that was Commander Spock? Had I somehow missed that she was blind, deaf and dumb? The _stupid_ kind of dumb.

"I could take Romulan," Cossette, said. "I could transfer today."

"We all could," I noted.

"That is sufficient, Cadet," he announced; that deep voice sending tingles along every one of my nerve endings.

Spock stood and faced the class; a collective sigh from every female throat rose up, alerting him to the fact that half of his class might not have been as focused on equipment repair as he had thought. His eyebrows drew together slightly, and he moved to stand behind the lectern.

I bit back a little moan of disappointment. Marianna said something I was sure was a Betazed curse word.

Boris slid out from under the console, his face burning red, and his hair more messy than ever.

"Poor hummingbird," murmured Cossette.

"Poor us," I begged to differ. "The show's over."

Spock was still lecturing about how Boris had screwed up the repair on the console; utilizing a projection of the panel, he was indicating which wires should have been soldered and which Boris had chosen.

There were lots of differences.

"His fingers are as long as his legs," murmured Kalla, loud enough for me to hear. I nodded, focusing on the digits as they pointed and slid across the projection. I could only imagine how far inside those slender pieces of flesh could reach, of exactly what they could do if they slid across skin the way they slid across the images.

"Do you think he'd be a good kisser?" Marianna posed.

My eyes snapped to his lips. They were perfect, pouty, and bow-shaped. I wanted to follow the curves of his upper lip with the point of my tongue and suck the pillow of the lower lip into my mouth and worry it a bit with my teeth.

"With practice," replied Cossette, sotto voce. "Lots and lots of practice. Do you think he'd like some private tutoring?"

The even cadence of his voice faltered momentarily, then started up again.

I quickly typed a query and emailed it to my fellow oglers: _Vulcans? Good hearing?_

Marianna responded first: _Vulcans: excellent hearing._

I glanced at Spock; his back was to us, and he was pointing at the picture of the casing on the primary circuit. His neck flowed seamlessly into firm shoulders, firm _and_ broad shoulders.

My PADD beeped at me. Kalla had replied, _All that and superpowers, too_.

_The power to make women's clothes fall off with just a glace_, Marianna responded.

I nodded vigorously.

He half-turned to the room and answered a question from someone in the front row; his melodic voice made an explanation about circuit boards and relays utterly, painfully sexy. I sighed and stared at him.

_Shoulders_, Kalla pointed out. _You can see the muscle definition through the shirt._

_I want calves!_ Marianna replied.

The girl was freakishly fixated on calves.

Cossette was staring raptly at him, her chin cradled in her palm; she was pointedly ignoring the email discussion.

_I like this class much better when _he_ teaches it_, Kalla noted.

_The information is much more compelling_, I wrote back. _I'll remember this _forever.

He swung around from the projection and stepped to the left of the lectern; he looked like a particularly enticing piece of licorice in that uniform – one that I longed to eat whole. I leaned forward eagerly.

"Cadet Mulcahey," he said, glancing at a mousy girl in the front row. "Please repair the secondary communications power coupling."

"Oooo, coupling," murmured Marianna.

Cadet Mulcahey stood up and galumphed her way to the console sitting in the middle of the room.

"Lucky," hissed Cossette.

"Pwah! We're lucky," I whispered back. "We get to watch him."

He was standing ramrod straight this time, giving us his profile as he observed Mulcahey fiddling with the back of the practice panel.

_I spy bulge!_ Marianna noted in an email with two of the three words misspelled. Three sets of eyes narrowed as we tried to see what she'd seen.

And there it was. Oh, there was some nice definition in that region, too.

"Very nice," Cossette said in a low voice.

"I'm changing my major," I mumbled. "I'm good with languages."

"And ethics," added Kalla. "Don't forget about the ethics."

"Interspecies," I whispered. "I'm very good at all things interspecies."

Cossette sighed and began to fan herself with her hand.

Best. Class. Ever.


	3. Translation

Thanks again to my betas, miss steph and T'Leba. You both rock. Hard!

Disclaimers and more kudos in chapter one.

**~Three: Translation~**

Earth boys are easy, and so are Bolians,  
And Tellarites, even Andorians.  
We all know that Betazeds  
Are easily led.  
But Vulcans are difficult, so Nyota's out of luck  
Because it's with Spock she wants to .....

_Easy_ - song written by Gaila and edited by Nyota.  
_________________________________________________________

"I'll call you," I promised as he kissed my neck some more. "I promise, I promise, I promise."

"Promise?" he murmured against my clavicle.

I pushed at his head and kissed him until I felt his knees buckle. I left him in the hallway, his eyes screwed closed, his lips still pursed.

"Why don't men believe me when I say I'm going to call them?" I asked Ny as I rounded the half-wall and headed towards my bed.

She was sitting on her own bed, legs drawn towards her chest and staring at a PADD. "Because you don't?" she replied.

"I do, too! Sometimes. Most of the time. When there's a performance worth repeating." I sighed and threw myself on my bed, then flipped to my side and perused her. Her head was bent low, her hair covering her face. That was suspicious; her hair was perpetually in a ponytail.

"What're you doing?" I asked.

"Homework."

It was Friday afternoon. She never did homework on Friday afternoons. It was the only day she allowed herself to "have fun." Of course, I still wasn't one hundred percent sure exactly _what_ it was that she did for fun.

"You don't do homework on Fridays," I pointed out.

"It's a special project," she muttered.

My suspicions mounted.

"Seems like it's an _important_, special project," I noted.

"It is," she murmured, crunching her body lower over the PADD.

She was trying to hide something from me. Nyota _never_ hid things from me.

No, that wasn't exactly right.

She didn't hide Academy stuff from me; _Ghu_ knew that I knew _all _about her career ambitions. Knew more about them than I ever wanted – or needed – to know: she already spoke ten or fifteen or twenty – I never could remember exactly how many – languages, but that wasn't enough. Oh, no! _She_ wanted to leave the Academy being fluent in at least eighty percent of the languages of the Federation. I knew that she wanted to go to the Oxford Linguistics Invitational – whatever _that_ was – and win. I knew - _everyone_ knew - that she wanted to be assigned to the Enterprise.

Whatever she was doing now had nothing to do with her current education or her future career. I'd bet my new pair of black strappy sandals on it.

"Which class?" I asked.

She mumbled something incoherently.

Nyota never spoke incoherently; she always spoke clearly and distinctly.

That was enough for me. I needed to see what she was working on.

"I didn't catch that," I said, shifting to the edge of my bed.

She shifted slightly, relaxing her posture a bit; her face was still covered by her hair. "Just something for a friend."

"Which friend?" I asked, tensing every muscle, preparing to launch my assault on her PADD.

"Uhm," she began, erasing any doubt that she was hiding something big. Nyota didn't say "uhm;" she always used real words.

I pitched myself forward, grabbing the PADD before I hit the floor. She yelped my name as I rolled and sprang to my feet – _I mock thee paltry Earth gravity_ – and scanned the screen.

Huh. There was lots and lots of information about Vulcans.

"You're not taking Vulcan Studies this semester," I said, scrolling down.

"It's a personal project," she said, trying to grab the device out of my hands.

"About Vulcans," I said, neatly avoiding her grasping hands as I continued to flip through pages and pages of her notes about All Things Vulcan.

"About the civilization that was primarily responsible for the founding of the United Federation of Planets," she said.

I looked up from a picture of a _le-matya_. "Would your sudden interest in Vulcan be because the sole representative of that culture at the Academy is mouth-wateringly gorgeous?"

She frowned and grabbed her PADD back. "No. And he's much more than gorgeous."

"That's true. He's sex on a stick," I said. "Imagine what the combination of his long legs, slim hips, and superior strength could be capable of …."

"He's not an object of adolescent fantasies," she said. "He's a person."

In that instant, I understood. "You like him," I said.

"I respect him," she countered.

"Oh, you _respect_ him alright. It all makes sense now. 'Oh, my favorite roommate! Commander Spock is brilliant, you know,'" I said, fluttering my eyelashes and trying to make my voice sound like Nyota's. "'He knows more about the Romulan language than anyone in Starfleet or at the Academy. His pants are very tight; I don't know how they contain those thighs. Oh, gorgeous Gaila, he has majestic thighs! And then there's his ass. Oh, my goodness gracious, that ass! And, have you seen his fingers, my brilliant Orion friend? Those fingers are so long and beautiful.'"

She rolled her eyes at me. "First, I have never called you 'gorgeous Gaila' or…" she flapped her hands around in circles. "Second," she continued, "_I_ didn't say anything about his fingers, his pants or his…other things."

"You're right," I conceded. "That was me. But you've been burbling non-stop about him."

"Hardly," she snorted. "I _may_ have mentioned that he's a very proficient linguist, nothing else." She started to move around – a dead giveaway that she was nervous.

"He's a _hot _proficient linguist," I said. "The man can fill out a uniform like no one else."

She narrowed her eyes at me. I thought I saw a jet of jealousy in those brown eyes of hers, but she blinked and looked down at the PADD before I could be sure.

"I'm merely interested in learning more about Vulcan culture," she said. "It's not something I've ever done much research on."

"Are you hoping for some hands-on research?" I asked. Half of the women at the Academy would jump at the chance.

"Lala," she said repressively, shaking her head.

"What's that?" I demanded, distracted momentarily.

"Your nickname," she said, tossing the PADD onto her bed.

"I hate it," I decided.

"Good," she said.

"'Ny' is cute," I pointed out. "'Lala' is insulting."

"No, 'Green Girl' is insulting. 'Lala' reminds me of music. You like music."

"'Green Girl' _is_ insulting. I love music, and you like The Commander."

She blinked, astounded at my ability to loop the conversation back to where I wanted it.

"He is _really_ hot," I prompted.

She finally smiled. "He's an attractive man. I'll agree with you on that."

"And he really works those uniform pants."

She shook her head. "You're going to talk about this a lot aren't you?"

"_Ghu_, yes," I said. "Have you _seen_ him?"

"Once or twice," she muttered.

"Bending over?" I demanded. "Have you seen the man bend over? I can barely form words to describe the utter beauty of that body when it's bent over."

She sighed deeply, "And yet you try."

"Are you kidding? I wrote a song about him. Let me sing it for you…."

She held up her hand, "I've heard it. Several times. It's an amazing song, Gaila."

I took the compliment at face value and continued, "He deserves every syllable."

She began to put her hair into a ponytail, trying very hard to look unruffled.

"What're you thinking? Argellian belly dance?" I prompted.

She frowned at me, her hands stilling in her hair.

"To seduce him? Ny, you need to have a _plan_."

"I don't need a plan," she said quickly as she pulled her hair taut.

"You're not going to bag The Commander without a plan."

"Gaila, I'm not out to 'bag' anybody, least of all Commander Spock. I'm going to be really busy for the next four years, so I'm not going to have time for men. When I graduate, maybe…I mean, I'm not anti-man or anything…Besides, I don't like Commander Spock…I mean, I _like_ Commander Spock…he's very intelligent and an excellent teacher, but I'm not romantically interested in him. So, there is no need for a plan to 'bag' Commander Spock because I don't want to 'bag' Commander Spock"

"You said his name five times," I pointed out.

"Gaila," she sighed; it was something she did a lot. "He's a teacher, and I'm his student; he's the faculty advisor of the Invitational Team, and I plan on being a member." She took a deep breath. "Besides, I'm not stupid."

"I know you're not," I said. "But I'm not sure why that's germane to the discussion."

"To have a crush on a teacher and the coach of the team that I want to be a member of would be stupid," she said, sinking to her bed. She looked sad, and it broke my heart a little.

I sat next to her and put my arm around her skinny shoulders; she leaned into me. "And you're not stupid," I said.

"No, I'm not," she said.

But it seemed she'd fallen for him anyway.


	4. Invitation

The song is a re-working of my favorite children's song. Yeah. I know. I am seeking help.

Disclaimers and thanks in chapters one and three.

My betas – miss steph and T'Leba – are the best.

**~Four: Invitation~**

If all the raindrops  
Were Savars and Christophs  
Oh, what a rain that would be!  
Me standing outside with my arms open wide  
Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah  
If all the raindrops  
Were Savars and Christophs  
Oh, what a rain that would be!

If all the snowflakes  
Were Alexanders and Thom-Blakes  
Oh, what a snow that would be!  
Me standing outside with my arms open wide  
Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah  
If all the snowflakes  
Were Alexanders and Thom-Blakes  
Oh, what a snow that would be!

If all the sunbeams  
Were Malachis and Hakims  
Oh, what a sun that would be!  
Me standing outside with my arms open wide  
Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah  
If all the sunbeams  
Were Malachis and Hakims  
Oh, what a sun that would be!

_Good Weather_, song by Gaila  
__________________________________________________

"She walks in beauty like the night," he whispered into my ear, his warm breath tickling and teasing.

"Who walks in beauty like the night?" I asked.

"You do," he replied.

And, just like that, the mess hall faded away, and all I could see were his green eyes – which were slipping closed.

"Good answer," I whispered, giving him the kiss he deserved. And expected

When I finally peeled my lips off of Mike's it was to find Nyota standing beside our table, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Hi, Nyota," I said cautiously.

"Hi, Gaila," she said, taking my greeting as an invitation and dropping down to an empty chair at our table, "Mike, nice to see you again."

"Uhura," he said; he didn't look too happy to be interrupted.

The man did not understand the Importance of Female Friendships.

"I'm going to the Invitational!" she said; her whole body was trembling. I'd never seen her so animated – not even when she discovered that she'd get to learn all three Romulan dialects; a moment which, she assured me, was a highlight of her life.

"And?" I demanded, starting to arrange our lunch dishes into a precise pile.

She frowned at me, "What 'and?' There is no 'and;' there doesn't need to be an 'and;' it's the Oxford Linguistics Invitational!"

"Wow! That's incredible, Uhura." Mike said, transforming into a language nerd right in front of me.

"You're an engineer, how do you know about this thing?" I demanded.

"It's a big deal," Mike said; Nyota nodded exuberantly in agreement. "I didn't think they asked first years," he said, focusing on Ny.

"Are there discussion groups?" I continued. "Does everything on Earth stop, so you can watch it collectively?"

"I'm not the only first year," she said to Mike. It appeared that they had forgotten I was sitting at the table.

"Who?" Mike asked; he seemed genuinely interested.

"Forced viewings in sports stadiums?" I persisted.

"Gaila, don't be silly," Nyota said, shaking her head pityingly at me, then giving Mike a wry look. He returned it.

I opened my mouth to protest the shabby treatment of the Non-Earth-Born when Nyota answered Mike's question. "Boris Briggs was also invited. Do you know him?"

"The Human Hummingbird?" I choked out before Mike could chime in. "The person who gave himself first-degree burns while repairing a dummy control panel?_ That_ Boris Briggs?"

"He's an excellent linguist," Ny said. "He speaks almost as many languages as I do."

"Incredible," I muttered. "I would've bet you my new dress – black and very short, honey – that he was filling some sort of Federation-mandated imbecile quota."

"How short?" Mike asked, forgetting all about the silly language thingy.

I batted my eyelashes.

"Short enough," Nyota said. "Lala, you didn't hear the best part."

I glared at her.

Her smile grew brighter. "Commander Spock has volunteered to help me prepare."

And there was the "and."

We needed Girl Time. Now.

"Baby," I said, brushing my fingers across Mike's left bicep, "Can you please get me some more lemon cake?"

He looked at the lengthy line. "Uh, pumpkin…."

"I need to carbo load." I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

He flushed adorably and hurried off, his blonde hair shining in the light. I smiled indulgently at his retreating form then rounded on Nyota. "Are you okay with this?" I demanded.

"With what?"

"The tutoring?"

"Of course I am."

I squealed and grabbed her hands, squeezing. "It's about time!"

"Ouch!" She wrested her hands away from me. "What's about time?" she asked.

"You and the VLB…."

She shook her head slowly, "The what?"

"'Vulcan Love Bunny,'" I whispered. "I was trying to be discreet."

"'Vulcan Love Bunny' is discreet?" she whispered back.

"No, referring to the 'Vulcan Love Bunny' as the 'VLB' is discreet," I said.

"Not referring to…_that person_ at all is discreet," she countered.

"But we have to refer to him," I said. "We need to talk logistics. When do your private lessons begin?"

"Wednesday. Why?"

I drummed my fingers on the table. "That doesn't give us enough time to go shopping. Thank _Ghu_ I have tight dresses; they should work on you. What size shoe do you wear?"

She sat up straight and stared at me. "Why are you asking me these questions?"

"Because you can't wear _your _shoes with _my_ dresses."

"And why would I wear your dresses?"

"The VLB, of course, Nyota. Try to keep up."

"Gaila, what are you talking about?"

"You and the VLB alone, in his office, for hours and hours, just using your mouths, lips and tongues…."

"To speak," she squeaked, "To practice. For the Invitational. Nothing else. There will be practicing of absolutely nothing but alien languages. Oh, and atmospheric manipulations and constructive verbalizations, of course. And click and whistle…."

I held up my hand. "Please stop. You know I want to poke my ears out when you start speaking Communications. Do you mean to tell me that you plan on being alone with the VLB and do nothing?"

"We'll be preparing," she said.

"That doesn't sound like having sex."

A vein started pulsing in her left temple. "Because we're not going to have…going to…do _that_."

"As requested, lemon cake, beautiful," Mike said, plunking a plate on the table and readying to plop himself into a chair.

Huh. I'd thought the line was longer.

I blazed a smile at him. "And coffee, please, sweetness. Caffeine is a good thing; it gives me loads of energy."

He sighed deeply and glanced at the line. It was growing longer. "Are you sure?"

"Do you want me to choke on the cake, baby? I need something liquid. My throat is a delicate instrument." I shot him a smoldering gaze that had him turning on his heel and rushing back to the line.

I directed my attention back to Nyota, who looked very much like she wanted to join Mike. "What - in all that is holy on this planet and every other - are you thinking, Nyota Uhura? Do you really, truly want to die of sexual frustration? It can happen, you know. I've read articles."

"No, you haven't."

"I will. One day. When I write one all about how you did yourself in with unrequited lust for the VLB."

"Gaila," she said, rolling her eyes.

"And there's always the pact."

She began to rub her temples. "What pact?"

"The pact that I would help you get a certain long-legged slice of manliness," I whispered, "I wrote it, and we both signed it." I fumbled for my PADD.

"I don't have any knowledge of a pact, and I certainly never signed it."

"You signed it in spirit," I said.

"But not in person."

"Pwah! That's merely a technicality that does not invalidate the pact." I placed the device reverently on the table and flipped through until I found the file I wanted and started reading. "'I am honor bound by the deity of Nyota's choice that I will do everything in my considerable power to help her win the loins of the man of her choice,' which, of course, is the VLB," I finished, smiling at her.

"You can't be serious."

"Orions do not joke about pacts made to the deities of your choice," I said, leaning towards her. "Now, as you know, my people are pretty good at seduction. Even though I am a free Orion and, as such, am fundamentally opposed to the personification of my people as purely sexual beings bent on domination and profit through carnality, I'm willing to overcome my moral objections and help you."

She blinked myopically then opened her mouth, "This is the Invitational, Gaila. And the," she swallowed and looked pained, "'VLB' and I are merely student and teacher. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"How many times do you have to tell yourself that?" I shot back.

Her face crumpled for a second, then she pulled herself together. "Fine," she whispered, "There may have been un-studently feelings, but I'm over it. I just need to focus on preparing for the competition. Can we please drop it?"

I regarded her silently for a moment. "No. I'll do your makeup."

"I don't wear makeup."

"Don't you think you should?"

"No makeup."

"Your hair?"

"You aren't touching my hair."

"But I'm good at hair and makeup. He'll have you bent over his desk five minutes after you walk into his office."

"Oh, God! Stop!" she yelped, covering her ears with her hands.

"Coffee," Mike said, dropping the cup at my elbow. "With lots and lots of caffeine. Uhura what's wrong with you?"

She dropped her hands, shook her head and looked out over the crowd; I glanced at the cup and wrinkled my nose, "Black? I need lots and lots of sugar and cream, please." I blew a kiss at him.

"Gaila," he said, his shoulders sagging.

I took a sip, and stuck my tongue out. "I can't drink this. There will be choking."

He sighed again and headed off. The line was dwindling; Nyota and I needed to finish this discussion and fast.

"There will be no bending over…" she started.

"But, Nyota, there could be. Give me an hour to get you ready, and your study session could be end up being a session with a stud."

She stared at me, her mouth opening and closing like an Earth fish. "The workings of your mind astound me," she finally said.

"They are pretty incredible, aren't they?" I asked, smiling at her. "Now, let's talk colors…."

She bit her lip. "Gaila, I don't think…."

"No, you think too much. He's willing to help you with this thing…."

"He's the faculty advisor for the team – he's taking us to Oxford. He's helping us all."

"And when does he start one-on-one tutoring sessions with Boris?"

"Well, I'm the only one he's…."

"How many?" I demanded.

"How many what?" she countered.

"How many people on the team?"

"Five."

"Now," I continued, staring at her, "That's an interesting piece of information. You're the only one of the five team members that the VLB is helping personally. That would seem to indicate some sort of interest."

"Professional interest," she said. "Teacher interest. Educational interest. He doesn't look at people as male or female, just as students."

I sniffed.

"It's true," she said. "I don't think he realizes I'm a woman."

"But you are a woman, and he's a man; it'll take just a little bit of effort for you to be a man and woman together. You just need to show him what all," I waved my hand at her in a circular pattern, "_that_ is for."

"Drop it, Gaila," she said; her teeth were clenched together - it looked painful.

"Just in case you want something else," Mike said from my elbow. He dumped cream, sugar, water, juice, a slice of pie, and a muffin on the table.

"Thanks, gorgeous," I said. There was no way I could send him back up to the line, and Nyota knew it. She smiled mockingly.

"This isn't over," I said to her in Orion Prime.

She popped a piece of muffin into her mouth. "Yes, it is," she responded in the language of my childhood.

"Just keep telling yourself that," I said in Orion.

She would bag that Vulcan. I would make sure of it.


End file.
